Chapter 13
Is Austin afraid of getting his heart broken?
“Austin?”
I blink and snap to attention, looking around the table. Everyone’s staring at me. I completely zoned out. Heat rises in my face.
“Sorry. Um.” I look at the script, the words all jumbled as I try to find my place.
“Right here.” Marlee points.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat and read out the lines.
I’ve been doing that a lot lately—daydreaming. That’s not something I used to do. I’m only thinking about one person. But I need to pay attention. I need to be good. I don’t want anyone to regret casting me. Or let me go.
I keep telling myself it won’t happen, but it could.
It’s possible. We haven’t made any promos yet.
It would be easy to alter my police uniform to fit someone else.
Phil and Arnold could decide to let any of us go.
It happens all the time—the cast in the pilot being different from the rest of the series.
Devin, the director, wanted a table read before we rehearsed the pilot on the set.
They’re almost finished building the police station.
I saw guys bringing in filing cabinets on dollies from a prop company.
Devin has overseen every detail, requesting specific lighting and pushing the set designers to give the place a rundown, rough feel to it.
Now he sits at the head of the table, wearing yellow-lensed sunglasses, silently watching us go through our lines.
It’s a little unnerving.
But Devin convinced Phil to put female cops on the show. Phil didn’t want to—he wanted women as secretaries and wives—but Devin fought him on it. Brad and I listened outside Phil’s office one day while they discussed it.
“They’re gonna pass that ERA anytime now, Phil,” Devin said. “You don’t want those NOW ladies cutting off our dicks then going on the air with Cronkite. Get with the times, Phil. Angie Dickinson has her NYPD show, and lots of women watch it. You can’t put them in the kitchens anymore.”
Phil reluctantly let Devin cast female cops. The script had to be adjusted, but now Marlee Mendelson and Shauna Peele are portraying some tough policewomen.
Brad and I read through our scene where we have a disagreement, and we both have to get pretty angry. But, as will happen sometimes, we glance at each other, break character, and crack up for no reason.
Devin knocks on the table. “Let’s go, guys. Take it seriously.”
We start the scene again and get through it okay, then Devin lets us take a break. I stand up to stretch.
“Sorry,” Brad says. “I don’t know what happened.”
I laugh. “Me either.”
Since we’re part of the main cast, we each get our own dressing room in the studio.
They’re not very big, but it’s nice to have my own space to go to between scenes.
I need a nap. Harvey keeps me up late. I’m not complaining.
If I didn’t need to sleep, and if I could spend every waking moment with him, I would.
This show is what I wanted, but I can’t help feeling impatient all day.
He’s like an addiction. I didn’t know it was possible to want someone this much.
It can’t be healthy, but then again, what do I know?
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been together with anybody or belonged to them.
This is new to me. Sometimes I worry I’ll screw it up.
I walk into my dressing room, shut the door, and lie down on the loveseat.
It’s not big enough to stretch out, but I’m too tired to care.
Who knows when we’ll wrap for the day? Devin has stopped someone more than once, asking them to read through their lines several times to get the right emotion or tone.
I’ve got mine mostly memorized—except when I’m daydreaming.
A knock sounds at my door.
I sigh. “Yeah?”
The door opens and Brad pokes his head in. “You want something from the commissary?”
“No, thanks.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
He steps inside. “I’ve never worked with a director like him before. It’s not really a bad thing. Just different, I guess.”
I sit up. “I guess.”
Brad lingers. I glance at him.
He has his hands in his pockets, studying me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
My heart beats a little faster. “Okay.”
He closes the door and comes over, sitting on the arm of the loveseat. “Is all that stuff about you and Harvey Laden true?”
My heart races up into my throat. I almost choke on it. “W-what? What are you talking about?”
My mind races. Did someone see us together? How could they? We’re almost always at my house. Is someone spying on us? Someone from the retreat that saw us? And now they know, and they’re going to use it as blackmail…
“The fights,” Brad replies. “I always assume the tabloids are making things up, but that was you and him outside of The Roxy a few months ago, right?”
I relax slightly and chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, that was us.”
“I heard you guys had, like, some kind of feud going on.”
“We did.” I nod. “That’s true. But it’s not like that anymore.”
Brad’s brows furrow. “Really? Why not?”
“We’re too old for that shit now.”
Brad keeps looking at me funny when a knock on the door interrupts us. Devin calls for us to come back for the table reading.
We both stand, and Brad gestures at the door. “After you.”
Everyone sits back down at the able, and Devin takes his seat.
“All right,” he says. “Let’s go. Next scene.”
I like the way the waterbed waves beneath us when Harvey fucks me.
We always start out differently from where we end up, and I always end up on my back.
I try to get home before he comes over so I can get ready in the shower.
This is what we do now. I think this is just how we’ll have sex.
Things might change, little things, variations, but the main course will be the same.
It’s something we create together like the lyrics to a song or the plot of a story.
It’s our signature written on the waves of this waterbed.
On the carpet. In the shower. On the stairs.
It’ll be something I can rely on whenever things get unfamiliar.
I might be getting too far ahead of myself.
“I want to count all these,” Harvey says, tracing my freckles as he slides a hand down my back. “I could do it all day.”
“That would take a million years,” I say with a laugh.
“Well.” He lies beside me, propping his head up on his hand. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Were you?”
It’s dark in here, except for the light from the hallway, but I’m sure he can see the redness on my cheeks. That damned telltale flush I can’t hide.
“No,” I say. “I wasn’t.”
I’ve thought about it a gazillion times. He practically lives here already. He’s been here every night since we got back from rehab. But… I don’t know.
For one thing, I don’t want Pete Laden showing up here.
I can’t think of a reason why he would, but you never know.
Harvey says he’s not exactly stable. I don’t want anyone seeing or finding out he’s been at my house and having it get back to Phil.
I promised I’d behave, and Phil hates Pete Laden.
I’m really not sure why, but he hates Harvey too, and he doesn’t need to know anything about us.
I’m not doing blow or ludes, and that’s all he really needs to worry about.
Harvey is different from his dad. From what Harvey’s told me, his dad isn’t exactly “daddy dearest.” I’m not surprised.
In Hot Night, Judd is the nice one. He has to be as the frontman.
He looks rough and tough, but he’s friendly with fans, signing albums and taking photographs.
George is the shy one. He’s wild on stage, but offstage, he shies away from the crowds and cameras.
Dan and Pete are the jerks. Every rock band has one, and Hot Night has two.
They flip off paparazzi, cuss into news cameras, and rumor has it that two teens got into their hotel in Vegas.
The girls asked for an autograph and Dan and Pete demanded to see their tits in return.
It’s a rumor, though. Who knows if it’s true.
The other reason is Harvey’s sister. She’s probably the reason he’d say no.
I don’t think he tells me everything that goes on under that roof.
I’ve considered suggesting she could stay here sometimes.
I have extra bedrooms. But I doubt Pete Laden and her mother would be okay with their daughter staying with Harvey and his gay lover. I do hope I’ll get to meet her one day.
But like I said, I’m getting way ahead of myself.
Harvey gazes at me like I’m a constellation of stars. I smile at him. “When am I going to get to hear your song?”
He huffs out a laugh. “When it’s ready. I told you.”
“Can you at least bring your guitar over? Play a couple of verses for me or something?”
He shakes his head. “It would just sound like shit. I mess up all the time.”
“So? I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.” He sits up on the bed, covers tangled around his legs. “Judd wants to produce it. He’s going to get me into some recording studio in Westlake.”
“That’s great.” I sit up too.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, pretending to be interested in his fingernails. “Judd said we could maybe make a whole album.”
“Shut up.” I playfully shove his shoulder.
He’s still looking at his fingernails, but his grin gives him away. “But you know. Guess we’ll see.”
“So am I going to be sleeping with a rock star? A real bad boy?”
He glances at me and lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Could be.”
Moments like this, I can barely keep a bunch of words from tumbling out of my mouth. It’s ridiculous—I think about it all the time. Maybe I never really hated him. It still doesn’t make sense. Before, all I wanted was for him to disappear.
Now, I don’t know if I can live without him.
One morning, I’m going into the studio as Clarence is coming out.